Ruination
by Aini NuFire
Summary: The night Dean kicks him out of the bunker, Castiel has to find shelter from the rain. But he unwittingly stumbles across a monster's lair and is caught…and as far as he knows, no one's looking for him. Meanwhile, Sam's not buying Dean's story about why Cas left, and he won't be satisfied until he finds some answers. Assuming the ex-angel lasts that long.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here, have some major pain and angst this lovely Wednesday.**

 **This was supposed to be a "one shot" but ended up being over 10,000 words.** **So I'm going to be spreading it out over today and next Wednesday, but don't worry, I didn't leave it at a mean cliffhanger.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!**

* * *

"Ruination"

Part I

Castiel stepped off the bus into a half empty parking lot, and immediately wrapped his arms tightly around his torso. The beginnings of a nippy autumn breeze wormed its way under the thin layer of his hoodie, adding an outer numbness to the one he already felt on the inside.

Disembarking passengers bumped against him when he didn't move out of the way. Castiel started, and finally sidestepped so as not to obstruct traffic. Other than that, though, he had no idea where to go. He had no direction, no goal like after he'd first been cast down to Earth, human after Metatron had cut out his grace, when he'd then spent a few harrowing weeks navigating his newfound mortal existence and dodging angry angels, all while trying to make his way to the bunker. To Sam and Dean.

 _"You can't stay here."_

Castiel was still reeling with shock and confusion at Dean's abrupt dismissal. _Why?_ Why had the Winchesters brought him back to the bunker after rescuing him from the reaper if they had no intention of letting him stay? Did they think it a kindness?

Castiel, however, felt it a cruel and crushing blow, the final nail in the coffin, so to speak, to cement how he had truly and completely fallen.

His latest screw-up was the final straw in a long line of screw-ups. He'd wrongly trusted Metatron, caused the angels to fall, wasn't there to help Sam, who had apparently barely survived abandoning the Trials. Given Castiel's already precarious position after nearly beating Dean to death and running with the Angel Tablet, not to mention his grievous sins with the Purgatory souls, of course he had to earn the right to come back. He couldn't expect Sam and Dean to take him in, shelter and teach him at their inconvenience until he had earned his place again.

It just…seemed impossible, now that he had no wings, no powers, no viable means of even starting to redeem himself to anyone, on Earth or in Heaven.

So, the Winchesters' rejection was justified.

But it still hurt.

A cold, wet droplet hit Castiel's cheek, and he tilted his head up toward the pewter sky. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in the rain.

The bus's doors shut with a small 'phsw,' and then it was pulling away. Castiel watched it go longingly, but he had only purchased a ticket to the nearest city away from Lebanon. Dean had given him some cash after dropping him at the bus station, but after those initial weeks on his own, Castiel knew he had to use that money sparingly. He should probably try to get further away in order to keep any angels hunting him as far away from the bunker as possible, as that had been one of Dean's concerns. Sam was still vulnerable.

But Castiel thought he should have a plan first. He didn't want to spend all his money on a ticket across the country and not have anything left to buy food with. However, his immediate problem was finding shelter. Gray spots were peppering the concrete as the sky opened its floodgates.

Castiel hugged himself tighter and looked around. There was a shopping mall across the street, so he made his way toward it. As he got closer, he noticed that the parking lots around the establishment were oddly empty, whole sections overgrown with tall clusters of weeds. His heart began to sink, but the rain was getting worse, so he pressed onward. Maybe he could find an alcove to at least sit under.

As he walked around the back, however, he started to see a few cars. The doors to the mall were unlocked, so Castiel hurried inside. He was immediately struck by a sense of emptiness. The stores along the entrance corridor were dark, with signs saying the businesses had either closed or moved. When he reached the inner heart of the mall, Castiel found every store was like that. The place was a ghost mall.

So why had the doors been unlocked? He meandered down one direction, and discovered there was, in fact, life in this otherwise deserted shopping center. A movie theater nestled in the far corner was still operational, and a couple people could be seen buying tickets at the window. Castiel turned around and went the other way.

His footsteps echoed hollowly across the floor. It was almost eerie, walking through a consumerism graveyard. Most of the stores were completely cleared out, though some had left mannequins or posters. A few even had some merchandise just lying on the floor behind the drop-down security gates. There was a sweatshirt in what used to be a sporting goods store, and Castiel paused, wishing he could just reach in and take it. It wouldn't be stealing if it was abandoned property. But he didn't know how to pick the lock on the bars, and with the movie theater just down the way, he didn't think it a good idea to try smashing the window.

He was surprised to find a single shop still open in this dead mall—a tattoo parlor. Castiel didn't see any customers inside, though. He went past it, as he didn't need any more protective ink.

He came to a food court, sectioned off with yellow construction tape. It was dark in this part of the mall. Castiel cast a glance around, and then ducked under the tape. The air was thick with the odor of French fries, the aroma having seeped into the very walls.

Castiel picked his way around a few installations before finding a low counter, which he then climbed over. The smell was worse on the other side, but he sat down, thinking he could at least spend the night here without anyone noticing. With the movie theater and tattoo shop still open, there was probably at least one security guard on duty, at least until closing. Castiel would have to lay low until then.

The cloying miasma of greasy food reminded Castiel that he would be hungry soon. Those two burritos he'd eaten back at the bunker had been so satisfying, but the truth was he probably could have eaten a third, if Dean hadn't dropped that bombshell on him. Staying here with the ghost of old food might prove tormenting when the hunger pains struck. Castiel's stomach almost cramped with the knowledge that he would be facing those again soon enough.

He would need money to buy food, which meant he'd need a way to obtain money. For most humans, that meant finding a job. Castiel almost considered inquiring at the movie theater, but he wasn't far enough away from Lebanon yet.

Also, he somehow didn't think it would be that simple. There were a lot of things Castiel still didn't know how to do as a human. Learning to take care of his bodily needs and stay alive had taken up most of his attention, and he had hoped to learn more about what it meant to live as a human from the Winchesters…but that was not going to be the case.

His mind turned to that lone tattoo shop. Perhaps he could ask the owner some questions about how to obtain employment and how to procure a place to stay that wasn't under a bridge or in a homeless shelter. Presumably, if Castiel found a job, he could then pay for a motel room or something. He should have paid more attention at the homeless shelters when such advice was being given to those staying there, but as he'd been focused on getting to the bunker, he'd dismissed those lessons as unnecessary at the time. He was rueing that now. And he'd rather not find another shelter, as he didn't want to endanger people around him, not until he figured out a way to completely hide himself from angels. It seemed that while larger cities intuitively felt more secure, more easy to disappear into, it actually meant there was more chance of running into an angel. Castiel would probably need to find a smaller town to hide in.

But first, he needed to plan better, and in order to do that, he needed some information. So he stood up from sitting cramped behind the service counter, and slid over the top to the other side again, making his way back to the tattoo shop.

It actually seemed an odd type of business to remain open in a dead mall. But, there was still the movie theater. Perhaps the owner was that stubborn, or perhaps just that resilient when all other stores had died out.

Castiel entered the small shop, which consisted of a few waiting chairs, and then two reclining chairs with privacy screens erected around them. The walls were decorated with a collage of tattoo photos.

"Hello?"

A figure moved out from the back of the store. He looked like a walking advertisement for his craft—every inch of him was covered in ink, including his bald head. There were so many designs and colors that Castiel couldn't begin to distinguish any of them without staring.

"Yes?" the tattooed man said. "You here for some ink?"

"Um, no." Castiel shifted in discomfort. "I'm, uh, new in town. In this country," he added, because he was technically a foreigner. Just of celestial origins. "And I was wondering if I could…ask some questions. About…navigating things."

The shop owner gazed at him for a long, assessing moment that made Castiel suddenly distinctly aware of his vulnerability. "Down on your luck, huh?"

"Um, yes," Castiel admitted, recognizing the phrase from fellow homeless gentlemen at the shelters.

"Got any friends or family you want me to call?"

Castiel's chest constricted. "No," he answered in a low, despondent voice. Not anymore.

The man nodded thoughtfully. "That's good."

Castiel quirked a confused look at him. How was that good? The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as the shop owner's eyes took on a predatory gleam. And then Castiel noticed the blue tinge to his eyelids…places that normally wouldn't be given tattoo ink.

He dropped his gaze to one of the tattoos curling around the man's neck, black whorls and curls that ran throughout the other brightly colored skin art, practically made unnoticeable by it. But Castiel saw the markings now.

He swallowed hard and slowly lifted his gaze back to the man's face, which had hardened a fraction in suspicion. Castiel took a step back.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"It's no bother. Thought you had some questions?" He took a menacing step forward.

Castiel edged toward the exit. "Actually, I think I'll just…"

He spun around to flee just as the shop owner lunged at him. A heavy weight tackled Castiel to the floor, and his chin smacked on the linoleum. He rolled onto his back and kicked out, catching the guy in the chest and shoving him off. He then scrambled to his feet and whipped out his angel blade from the back of his waistband. Castiel swiped as the shop owner threw himself forward again, scoring a gash across the chest.

The man howled and twisted around to the side. Castiel thrust again, but his opponent torqued out of the way and caught Castiel's arm between his own. Blue light began to glow from the swirling black tattoos.

Castiel's heart seized, and he tried to wrench away, but his now mortal strength wasn't comparable to the djinn's. And it was too much to hope that someone would hear the commotion and come investigate, as the movie theater was on the other side of the mall.

The azure poison seeped down into Castiel's arm, anesthetizing it with icy tendrils that dove down to his marrow. Castiel jerked again, but the djinn merely stepped into his space and planted a crackling blue hand across his forehead. Numbness dug its claws into his brain, slowing his mind and muscles. Darkness descended.

.o.0.o.

Castiel opened his eyes to a star-studded sky. He blinked, disoriented, and turned to survey his surroundings. He spotted the Impala parked in a dirt drive, and behind him was a large mound of earth. The Men of Letters bunker. Glancing down at himself, he realized he was wearing his old trench coat, the one he'd had to abandon at the laundry mat.

"What are you doing out here?"

Castiel whirled sharply to find Dean coming up the stairs from the bunker entrance, and he instantly tensed, an apology ready on his tongue because he knew Dean had said he couldn't stay.

The Winchester gave him an odd look. "Dude, chill. Jeez, you've been jumpy lately."

Castiel frowned. Lately? "I have reason to be," he said carefully.

He felt strange…no, he felt… _normal_. He had his grace, his wings. But that was impossible. He was human now, banished from the bunker, hated by his own kind.

So this was a djinn dream, a wish fulfillment. He'd been caught in that tattoo shop, in the skeletal remains of a ruined mall where he'd sought shelter because he was bereft and alone.

Castiel's heart gave a pang of curiosity. "Dean," he began, then paused. "What happened with Metatron?"

Dean quirked a confused look at him. "What do you mean what happened? The bastard took over Heaven and cast the angels out."

Castiel's throat tightened. But- that didn't explain… "Why do I still have my grace?"

Dean shrugged. "Beats me. You and Sam already figured that it was probably because you were already down here with him and me when it happened. You didn't fall from the sky like the others did."

Castiel's frown deepened. Was that his wish? That he'd stayed with Dean instead of going after Metatron? But, the angels had still been cast out… Metatron must have stolen someone else's grace for the spell.

"And Sam, he's alright?" Castiel asked.

Dean was looking at him funny again. "Yeah. You healed him. Cas, what's up with you?"

Castiel tipped his head back toward the sky. "Nothing. I just…have a lot on my mind."

Dean continued to gaze at him skeptically. "Well, we're working on the angel problem. So come inside."

"In a minute."

Dean hesitated for a moment before shrugging and turning back toward the door. Castiel waited until he disappeared inside and the heavy metal slab grated closed behind him. Then he drew out his angel blade.

If only he had stayed with Dean to go after Sam that night. If only he hadn't trusted Metatron. Maybe it didn't actually fix everything, as Metatron still would have found a way to cast the angels out of Heaven. But he hadn't used Castiel to do it, and Sam and Dean hadn't kicked him out because it hadn't been his fault.

But this wasn't real.

Castiel pressed the tip of the blade over his heart and drove it home.

.o.0.o.

This time when his eyelids fluttered open, it was dark. His head ached, as did his arms, which he realized were suspended above his head. His toes barely scraped across the floor, so getting any leverage would be nearly impossible. Not only that, but he felt incredibly weak, not unlike those times he'd gone a few days without a proper meal. Coarse rope fibers pinched and grated against his wrists. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Castiel spotted rolling shelf units and cardboard boxes.

A hiss sounded to his left, and Castiel couldn't help but flinch when the djinn appeared right in front of his face.

"Aren't you the interesting catch. A fallen angel, but not like the others. You're mortal."

Mortal and weak and vulnerable. Castiel tried to move, but all he could manage was to swing slightly from his bonds.

"I'm surprised you left the dream so quickly," the djinn went on. "It was much better than the circumstances that led you into my shop. You were planning on sleeping in the back of the food court tonight."

Castiel fixed him with a dark glower. "I know what you are. Did you really expect me to just lay down and die?" he growled.

The djinn shrugged. "Your mind is full of anguish and regret. I thought you'd recognize the futility of your situation and enjoy the wish fulfillment. You can live out an entire lifetime where your friends didn't abandon you."

Castiel's throat constricted with pain and remorse, but he steeled his jaw. "Then you didn't look deep enough into my mind to realize that will never happen."

The djinn's mouth twisted into a smug moue. "Maybe. But like I said, there's a lot of potential wishes to grant. Maybe I just have to find the right one."

"Why bother?" Castiel countered. "I will never submit."

The djinn's eyes sparked blue. "I don't like chatty food." He raised a glowing hand to Castiel's face.

Castiel tried to jerk away, even as he knew it was futile, and the djinn poison pulled him under once more.

.o.0.o.

Sam worked his jaw as he considered the array of car keys in the bunker's garage. Dean was currently passed out after another night of drinking, which made this a good time to take off. Because Sam did not understand how Cas could just leave like that, after they'd finally found him and brought him home.

Dean's explanation that Cas didn't want to draw the angels to them was lame at best. For one thing, the bunker was the safest place on the planet, warded against everything. If Cas wanted to stay off angel radar, this was the place to be. And for another thing, why had he left without saying goodbye to Sam? None of this was making sense and he was worried. But since Dean was brushing off the issue, Sam was gonna have to take action without his brother.

Making up his mind, he grabbed a set of car keys and headed for the Bentley. He wouldn't take the Impala and piss Dean off more, but Sam wasn't just going to let this go. Cas was new to being human, and shouldn't be out there on his own. He hadn't even sounded like that had been his plan when he'd gushed over the bunker's amenities and said Sam and Dean would be good teachers. So what the hell happened?

Sam also couldn't believe Dean hadn't even given Cas a phone or credit card. At least those would have made him easier to trace. Sam was gonna have to go on logic and legwork. Starting with transportation methods.

Sam headed for the nearest bus station, figuring that was the most likely place Cas would have gone. He wasn't wearing his FBI threads, but he still took his fake badge with him to the ticket counter when he asked about someone matching Cas's description buying a bus ticket. The good thing about it being a small town was there was a small number of employees, so if Cas had been through here, one of them would have seen him.

"Yeah, I remember him," an older gentleman said in response to Sam's question. "When I asked him where to, he didn't seem to know. Put some cash on the counter and asked how far he could get on it. Sold him a ticket to Cloverville."

Okay, that was only a couple of hours away. But Cas had a big head start, and the further away he got, the harder it would be to track him down. Sam still wasn't entirely sure how Dean had found him in that reaper's apartment.

"Thanks," he said, and went back to his car to head to Cloverville.

.o.0.o.

Gadreel was not happy. He was trying to stay hidden from the angels, and here his vessel was actively going out in search of their most wanted fugitive. Aside from him, of course, though he suspected no one had realized that the spell casting all the angels out had opened his prison as well. And he wanted to keep it that way.

But unless he wanted to wipe Sam's memories or exert full control, neither of which appealed to him, there was little Gadreel could do to stop Sam Winchester from looking for Castiel. All he could do was hope that they wouldn't find him.

.o.0.o.

Castiel jolted awake with a gasp, and immediately moaned from the brutal throbbing in his shoulders. His head was also pounding, and opening his eyes made the room spin. Or maybe he was spinning. His wrists felt as though they were on fire, skin rubbed raw from the rope twined around them, leaving him to dangle like a lead weight in the air.

A rough hand grabbed his chin. "You are trying my patience," a harsh voice hissed. It took Castiel a moment to place it. Oh, right, the djinn.

That was why Castiel had killed himself, despite having defeated Raphael without opening Purgatory. And before that had been Castiel breaking Naomi's hold before she had forced him to nearly kill Dean, and he hadn't run with the Angel Tablet. All of his past mistakes paraded through his mind, but fixed.

Yet it wasn't real.

"It will be easier on you if you just accept it," the djinn spat, fingers digging into his jaw with bruising force.

Castiel barely managed to lift his head. "No," he rasped.

Though, if he were honest with himself, a small part of him had to wonder just what he was trying to accomplish by resisting. No one was looking for him, except angels who wanted his head. And every time he woke was more painful than the last. He couldn't even be sure of how much time had passed in the waking world, how long the djinn had been feeding on him. How close—or how far—was his now frail, mortal body from expiring?

Castiel sagged when the blue light filled his vision again, blotting out everything else.

.o.0.o.

Sam pulled into the parking lot next to the bus stop and got out of the car, trying not to let defeatism get him down before he'd even started. But tracking Cas down after he'd gotten off the bus wasn't going to be easy.

His phone rang, and Sam pulled it out with an eye roll. "Hey," he answered.

"Where the hell are you?" Dean snapped.

"Out," Sam retorted.

"Out _where_?"

"What, are you my babysitter now?"

"Dammit, Sam! You're still healing from the Trials."

Sam let out a derisive sound. "I'm not an invalid, Dean."

"Would you stop being an idiot? We've got Abaddon and angels and a crapton else to worry about right now."

Sam's expression turned flinty, though his brother couldn't see it. "Where's the worry for Cas in all that?"

Dean hesitated for a beat. "What?"

"You just let him take off when there's Abaddon and angels out there, a lot of whom are hunting him."

"Of course I'm worried! But Cas thought it was best—"

"Since when do you care what other people think is best?" Sam cut him off, then shook his head. "You know what, I'm not doing this right now. I'll be back later."

He hung up. If Dean really wanted to, he could trace its GPS and come looking for him. But Sam was not leaving until he'd found Cas and convinced the idiot ex-angel to come back with them. Because going off on his own to 'protect' the Winchesters was just stupid. And Sam was still pissed Dean seemed to agree, which his brother _never_ would have done in the past.

Sam pushed his anger aside and focused on the task at hand. Where would Cas have gone after getting off the bus? He didn't have a lot of cash, it sounded like, since he hadn't bought a more expensive ticket. So he was either probably still in town, or maybe had tried to find a ride hitchhiking. Sam hoped not for the latter, and hopefully Cas recognized the danger in doing that. So maybe he was still in the area. And if so, where would he have gone?

The ground was wet. If it had rained last night, Cas would have needed to find a place indoors to take shelter in. Most businesses wouldn't allow loitering. Sam could try the local shelters. Yet when he lifted his phone to do a browser search, his gaze caught on a shopping mall across the street, one that looked old and decrepit…and like a good place to squat.

Well, it was a place to start.

Sam crossed the street and made his way around the perimeter in search of an entrance. He found one in front of a small lot with a few cars. Maybe the place was open after all.

Open, but totally empty. That wasn't creepy at all.

Turned out there was a movie theater at one end, and Sam pulled out his FBI credentials as he made his way to the ticket counter.

"Hi," he said to the teenage girl behind the glass window. "I'm Agent Cooper, FBI. I'm looking for a missing person and was wondering if maybe you've seen him come through here. About six feet, dark hair, blue eyes. Last seen wearing a red hoodie."

The girl shook her head. "Sorry, not that I can remember."

"Was anyone else working yesterday I can talk to?"

"I was at the counter yesterday too," she replied. "So, FBI…does that mean there's a serial killer here?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm just looking for one missing person," he assured her.

She quirked a confused look at him. "Oh. I thought you were here because lots of people go missing around here."

Sam straightened. "What?"

"Didn't you know about that?" she asked skeptically.

"Uh, I think there was a memo. Our office has just been swamped lately with recent events," he quickly covered. "These disappearances also start after the meteor shower?"

Crap, if angels were here, then Cas could be in serious trouble already.

The girl shook her head. "No, they've been happening for years now. Ever since I can remember anyway. Not a ton, I guess. I mean, someone every few months or so? It's not a big town, so the police usually just assume they left." Her throat bobbed nervously. "But if the FBI is here, should I be worried? I need this job, but I don't want to be working nights in a serial killer's playground."

"I'll look into it," he promised. "But no bodies have been found, so I wouldn't get worked up over nothing."

She didn't look entirely reassured, but Sam thanked her and excused himself.

A pattern of missing people, huh? But if it'd started years ago, then that ruled out angels, which was actually a relief. Sam debated whether to head down to the local police station and ask more questions, or continue looking around the mall. Finding Cas was still his priority.

And…what were the chances Cas had run into a run-of-the-mill monster out here? Normally, Sam wouldn't have worried about that, but Cas was human now. Presumably he had his angel blade, and he knew how to fight, yet Sam couldn't dismiss the sick feeling worming through his gut. He decided to take a look around.

Yeah, the empty mall was definitely creepy, not a soul in sight as the movie theater receded behind a bend. Sam could easily imagine a monster setting up a nest in the ruins of this place.

He could also imagine Cas coming here to find shelter from the cold. Again, _why_ had he left the safety of the bunker?

Sam's attention was drawn to some light coming from one of the shops. Weird, one was still open? He found a tattoo parlor, which was strange. Sam entered and looked around the empty store.

"Hello?" he called. "Anyone here?"

He heard shuffling in the back, and then a man with a gazillion tattoos was coming out.

The guy pulled up short…and looked downright flabbergasted at seeing him.

Sam quirked a brow at him. "Hi, I'm looking for someone. Was wondering if maybe you saw him wandering around out in the mall yesterday…" He trailed off.

Warning bells were suddenly going off in his head, screaming _djinn_ at him. Which he couldn't explain, because there was no reason for him to suspect a djinn of all things. And yet, the tattoos…Sam's eyes widened as it hit him. The perfect camouflage.

"I don't believe it," the man hissed. "You aren't supposed to be here."

Sam didn't have time to wonder at that because the djinn was charging at him. He whipped out his angel blade and ducked under the djinn's first swing. He couldn't allow the creature to touch him.

With a raging bellow, the djinn lunged at him again. This time Sam flung himself forward straight at him, plunging his blade into the djinn's chest. The monster had just grabbed his neck to infuse some poison, but with a gasp, the light in his eyes instantly died, and he fell to the floor with a thud.

Sam stumbled back, breathing heavily. Okay, maybe he wasn't exactly fully recovered from the Trials, but Dean could take his worry and shove it up his ass.

Sam grabbed the djinn's arms and dragged the body behind a counter, just in case anyone happened to meander past the store. He then straightened and turned toward the back storeroom. A djinn explained the disappearances every few months, and this was the perfect place for one to keep its victims and feed off them without anyone finding them.

Fear prickled at the back of Sam's mind, because he could have sworn the djinn recognized him personally. Which meant…

He hurried into the back room, and sucked in a sharp breath when he spotted a familiar figure suspended by ropes in the back of the storeroom.

"Cas!" Sam rushed forward and reached up to cut the ropes. He had to saw through them with the angel blade, but eventually got through. Cas dropped like a dead weight, and Sam lunged to catch him, guiding him carefully to the floor. Oh god, he felt too light, and his pallor was far too pale. The skin around his wrists was also completely shredded.

Cas moaned, his eyelids fluttering. Sam felt a wave of relief that he must have realized he was trapped in a djinn dream and committed suicide to wake himself up.

"Cas, hey, can you hear me?" Sam patted his cheek. "Open your eyes."

Cas slowly dragged them open, cloudy and dazed. His brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand," he wheezed. "I was…supposed to wake up…"

"You did," Sam assured him. "I killed the djinn. He's just outside."

Cas gazed up at him blandly. "You aren't supposed to be here."

Sam frowned. Wait, hadn't the djinn said that? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Cas, I came looking for you. Why'd you leave the bunker, man?"

Cas squinted. "What do you mean?"

Sam's chest constricted at his coarse voice. He needed to remember that Cas was human, and had basically just been fed on by a djinn for however many hours. Maybe even a full day or more. Sam needed to get him out of here.

He slipped an arm behind Cas and started to pull him up. Cas's knees buckled, barely able to hold his own weight. Sam slung one of Cas's arms over his shoulder to support him and started to make their way out of the storeroom. He spotted a glint of silver on a shelf that belonged to an angel blade. Probably Cas's. Sam snatched it up.

As they shuffled into the outer parlor, Cas staggered to a halt to gaze at the dead djinn. Sam watched his face worriedly.

"Is…is this real?" Cas whispered.

Sam's gut clenched, and he tugged Cas away. "Yes, it is. Cas, seriously, why did you leave? The bunker is the safest place on Earth."

Cas lolled a confused look at him. "But, Dean said…"

Sam pulled up short. "What did Dean say?"

Cas ducked his gaze. "Nothing."

"No, what did Dean say?" Sam demanded.

Cas looked uncomfortable. "He told me I couldn't stay. He had a lot…on his plate," Cas said carefully, as though unsure of the idiom. "With you recovering. And I've screwed up so many times. I know I have to earn the right to come back…"

"Dean _said_ that?" Sam sputtered in outrage and horror. What the hell? And he'd lied to Sam, saying it was Cas's idea? What the actual hell? Sam knew Dean had been pissed after the Angel Tablet thing, but he thought they were both just so damned relieved to have found Cas before that reaper could kill him. What had Sam missed?

"He was…worried about you," Cas said faintly, sagging against Sam.

"That is no excuse for this," Sam said darkly. No excuse at all. Sam didn't know what he was going to do when he saw his brother again, but it was not going to be nice.

First things first, though.

He half carried, half dragged Cas out of the mall and then veered toward where Sam had parked his car. It was a long way, and he could tell Cas was fading, but he was loathe to sit him down somewhere and leave him, even if it spared Cas the agony of walking. But they finally reached the Bentley, and Sam guided Cas around to the front passenger seat where he opened the door and eased Cas inside. Cas was shaking, and immediately slumped in the seat.

Dammit, he looked on the verge of hypovolemic shock. Sam hurried to the trunk where he deposited the angel blades before he grabbed a water bottle from his bag. He then rushed back to hand it to Cas. He had to keep one hand on the bottle, as Cas was shaking too badly to hold it steady.

After the first sip, Cas started to gulp the water down. Sam let him take a few before pulling the bottle away. "Okay, easy, not too much at one time."

Cas thunked his head against the seat again. Sam wondered whether he should take Cas to a hospital. But mostly, he just wanted to get the ex-angel home, and the bunker's infirmary was equipped with the stuff they'd need to treat blood loss, anyway.

Sam capped the water bottle and placed it in Cas's lap, then bent down to tuck Cas's legs into the car so he could shut the door. He then sprinted around to the driver's side and climbed in. As he started up the Bentley and pulled out onto the road, Cas's head lolled to the side and his eyes closed in exhaustion.

Sam's phone rang, but he ignored it. He'd have words with his brother when he got home.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you Cruelest Sea and guest Brendielyn831 for your reviews! Possible trigger warning for attempted suicide in this part, but it's not in the typical context.**

* * *

"Ruination"  
Part II

Castiel became aware of subtle vibrations beneath him, the steady thrum of a car's engine. It wasn't the one he'd expected, though. He pried his eyes open and gazed at the unfamiliar interior, then at Sam behind the wheel. Castiel held back a weary sigh. What was it to be this time?

He was in incredible pain, and he glanced down at his arms to find his wrists grated raw. He was also wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, rather than his trench coat.

He was human.

Well, that was different this time.

He immediately patted himself down. "Where's my angel blade?"

Sam flicked him a confused look. "In the trunk. Don't worry, I didn't leave it behind."

Castiel dropped his head back against the headrest. Right, the djinn had started putting him in scenarios where he didn't readily have a weapon so he couldn't just immediately end the dream.

"We're almost to the bunker," Sam said. "Just hang on, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled. He had little choice in the matter, not until he was able to get his hands on a weapon. Though, that should be easy at the Men of Letters bunker.

Not much later, they rumbled down a dirt drive Castiel knew well, and stopped in front of the secret hideout. He was so tired, though, that he didn't immediately bother opening his door and trying to climb out of the vehicle. Sam came around and opened it for him, then reached in to help lift him out. Obvious concern was written across the young Winchester's face, but Castiel had gotten used to seeing that in the other numerous facsimiles, so he paid little attention. He allowed himself to be half carried to the door and down the steps.

"I don't care how pissed you are, you don't just not answer your phone!" Dean's irate voice drifted up as he stormed into the war room, only to pull up short and gape at them. "What the…" Terror briefly crossed his face before it was replaced with horror and worry. "What the hell happened?" he exclaimed.

"Djinn," Sam spat with uncharacteristic vitriol that made Castiel frown slightly. Also, what djinn? The one that had captured him?

"Had Cas trussed up in its lair," Sam went on, voice still like steel.

Ah, so the djinn was trying to trick him now, make him think he'd been rescued so he would stop fighting back. Well, it wasn't going to work. And yes, his resistance may have been pointless, as there was no escape in the waking world, but his defiance was all he had left, and Castiel was going to hold onto it until his very last breath.

Dean's eyes were wide and shocked as Sam carried Castiel past him. "Um, Sam…"

"Don't talk to me right now," the younger Winchester snapped.

Castiel's frown deepened. Why were the brothers fighting? If this alternate world was based on reality this time, perhaps Dean was upset that Sam had taken off on his own when he was still recovering from the Trials.

Sam led him down the bunker corridor to one of the bedrooms, nudging the door open with his foot before hauling Castiel inside and easing him onto the bed. The mattress foam felt heavenly, and he wanted to sink into it.

"Okay," Sam said. "I'm gonna get a med kit. Be right back."

Castiel almost wanted to tell him not to bother, but it was best to just play along in djinn dreams, as everyone was programmed not to believe him if he said it wasn't real. He started listing sideways toward the pillow, yet caught himself. Even though he was utterly exhausted, sleeping would just waste precious time, which was passing differently in the waking world, anyway.

Sam returned shortly, med kit and water bottle in hand. "Here," he said, passing the bottle to Castiel. "You need to replenish your body's fluids."

Castiel dutifully uncapped the bottle and took a drink. He really did feel parched, and gulped down several mouthfuls.

Sam then reached out to take one of his hands, extending his arm out to rest his elbow across Sam's legs. The young Winchester lifted an antiseptic wipe, but paused. "This is gonna sting," he said regretfully.

Castiel didn't respond, just watched as Sam began to dab at his shredded wrist. He winced at the burning sting, and clenched his jaw against making a sound of discomfort.

"I don't know what Dean's problem is," Sam spoke lowly. "But you are staying here, got it?"

Castiel bristled, almost able to hear the djinn's insistent voice instead. He nodded anyway, just to appear placating.

Sam finished cleaning one wrist and wrapped it in gauze, then proceeded to repeat the process with the other one. Castiel struggled with nodding off, and kept himself busy by sipping at his water.

"We should get some food in you," Sam said once he'd finished the last bandage. "I'll make some soup or something. I know you're exhausted, but think you can stay awake just a little longer?"

Castiel nodded. "Of course."

Sam offered him a wan smile, and then gathered up the trash to remove from the room. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Castiel watched him go, and then forced himself to stand. His legs were shaky, and he nearly collapsed back onto the bed. The djinn was really pulling out all the stops this time, keeping him weak so that committing suicide would be more difficult. Castiel still refused to submit.

He staggered out into the hall, pitching against the doorframe to catch his balance. The corridor was empty, and he started making his way toward the main room. There were display weapons there he could use.

The study area was empty, and Castiel thought he heard voices coming from the kitchen. All the better. There was a katana on one bookshelf, but Castiel honestly didn't feel he had the strength to wield it. But he spotted a ceremonial dagger in a display rack across the room. The djinn had made a gross oversight by making Castiel human in this world, because now any old weapon could be used to kill himself with, not just an angel blade.

He took the dagger off the display, and frowned in consternation at his weak grip when he tried to lift it toward his heart. That might not be successful. Well, he was supposedly suffering from blood loss already.

Castiel set the blade to his wrist instead, right over Sam's carefully wrapped bandage.

.o.0.o.

Dean followed Sam into the kitchen. Shit, this was so messed up. How could Cas have run into a friggin' _djinn_ his first day leaving the bunker? Because that was Winchester luck, was what it was. And it was Dean's fault for having kicked him out like that. But it wasn't like he _wanted_ to do that. Ezekiel had his hands tied!

Oh god, Zeke…Sam…

"Listen," Dean began, "we can work this out…"

Sam whirled from the cabinet he'd been rifling through. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he shouted. Okay, still Sam.

"I know, I screwed up," Dean started, cringing at his little brother's accusation, but also worried about how much worse Zeke's reaction was going to be.

"Screwing up is making demon deals, lying to me. This is…god! Are you seriously that pissed at Cas still?"

Dean's jaw dropped. "What? No!"

Sam thrust his arms out to the sides. "Then what is it? Because I don't get how you could just kick him out like that. With _nothing_. You know where the djinn snagged him? In an _abandoned_ mall where he'd probably gone for a place to _sleep_ out of the rain."

Dean's throat threatened to close off. He'd never meant for that to happen. Dammit, why hadn't he done more for Cas? Sent him to Garth, or Jody, even?

Because he'd been reeling from Zeke's demand that Cas couldn't stay, and terrified that the angel would leave Sam before he'd finished healing him, and then Sam would die. So Dean had acted rashly and dropped Cas at a bus station as fast as he could. And distance meant he wouldn't have to face Cas's questions and disappointment like he would have if he'd reached out to Garth or Jody. He hadn't meant to leave Cas that vulnerable…but that's what had happened.

And he couldn't explain any of that, because Sam would get angry about being possessed by an angel and evict Ezekiel, and die anyway.

So now Dean was the bad guy, when he'd just been trying so desperately hard to keep his little brother safe.

At Cas's expense.

Dean shook his head in crushing guilt and defeat, not knowing what he could possibly say to make this better. He was spared having to think of something by a loud thud sounding from the library.

Exchanging a wary look with Sam, he bolted from the kitchen and down the hallway, Sam on his heels. They barreled into the study area, and Dean's heart stopped when he spotted Cas—sprawled on the floor in a growing pool of blood.

.o.0.o.

Gadreel watched through Sam's eyes as both Winchesters rushed to Castiel's side. He couldn't quite make sense of what he was seeing, and felt Sam's confusion and shock as well. Castiel had not been so grievously injured when they had returned to the bunker, so how…?

Sam's eyes briefly took in the bloodied knife laying on the floor next to Castiel, and Gadreel felt the hunter's heart seize with horror. But why would Castiel have done this?

Dean grabbed one of Castiel's slit wrists with both hands while Sam clamped his large palm around the other.

Castiel moaned, barely conscious. "No…"

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed.

"Oh god," Sam choked. "He must still think he's in a djinn dream."

A wave of guilt filtered through to Gadreel from the Winchester at not having been more diligent. Not that Sam could be blamed for the oversight. Gadreel had been aware the entire ride back to the bunker and thereafter, and there hadn't been any indications…

"Cas, dammit, stay with me!" Dean yelled.

Gadreel pushed himself to the forefront, straightening Sam's shoulders rigidly and instantly adding more pressure to Castiel's wrist currently wrapped in his hand. He felt the hot pulsing of blood against his fingers. Gadreel pushed some healing into Castiel's mortal body, but only enough to bring him back from the brink of death.

He removed his hand to find that Castiel's wrist had stopped bleeding, but the deep laceration still needed mending, and the former angel was still suffering from blood loss, his face as white as plaster.

Dean stiffened, eyes blowing wide. "Zeke…"

"I have healed enough to keep him alive," Gadreel responded. "To do more would arouse Sam's suspicions." He hesitated. "And Castiel's, if he is having difficulty recognizing reality."

Dean swallowed hard. "Okay, yeah, yeah. Thanks. But, Zeke, please, don't leave Sam. I swear Cas isn't a threat to you here. He's warded; this whole place is warded!"

Gadreel had to admit he was not happy with the situation, but things had become too complicated to remedy by simply removing Castiel from the equation. Sam Winchester would never accept Castiel's departure, and Gadreel was still reticent to wipe the human's memories.

Also…Castiel's broken declaration that he had to earn redemption had struck a chord with Gadreel. That was all he wanted as well. And Castiel's current state was partially his fault, as he had been the one to demand Dean Winchester make Castiel leave the safety of the bunker. He had been so concerned for his own safety that he had forgotten what it meant to be an angel. And wasn't that why he had answered the elder Winchester's prayer in the first place?

"I will remain in Sam and continue healing him," Gadreel said.

"And Cas?" Dean said, voice cracking.

Gadreel glanced at Castiel lying on the floor between them, still in dire need of help. "He can stay." And with that, Gadreel receded, letting Sam take over once more.

Sam started to find he'd removed his hand from Castiel's wrist, and lashed out to grip it again, but then furrowed his brow in confusion and took a closer look. "Okay, it looks like the bleeding's slowing down."

"Yeah," Dean said hoarsely. "Let's get him stitched up."

"He's lost too much blood between this and the djinn," Sam replied. "There's blood bags in the infirmary, right?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Transfusion. Good idea."

Gadreel tucked himself into a quiet corner, too overcome with regret and remorse to watch the rest.

.o.0.o.

Sam sat in a chair by Cas's bedside, anxiously watching the shallow rise and fall of Cas's chest as he slept. His wrists were stitched up and wrapped in stark white bandages, and an IV line was taped into the crook of his elbow, delivering a steady dose of O-negative from a blood bag hanging from the corner of the headboard.

That had been way too close. Sam was still kicking himself for leaving Cas alone. But…why had he thought he was still in a djinn dream? That just didn't make sense. Yeah, Cas had seemed disoriented when Sam had found him, unsure whether it was real, but if he'd killed himself in the djinn dream in order to wake up, why wouldn't he have been certain it worked?

Dean walked in with a tray holding a bowl of soup and glass of water, which he set on the desk. "Figured you were making Cas something in the kitchen earlier, before…" He trailed off. They both knew before what.

"Yeah," Sam said gruffly, unable to bring himself to even say a modicum of thanks for fixing something for when Cas woke up. If he woke up. The only reason Sam wasn't advocating a trip to the hospital right now was that they'd lock Cas up under a seventy-two hour psych hold.

"I was wrong, okay?" Dean said. "Can we just move on and focus on helping Cas now?"

"He needed our help before."

"Dammit, Sam, I'm trying here."

Sam shook his head. He was still just so angry over this whole thing. And if Cas didn't pull through…

"I'm trying to understand what the hell was going through your head when you kicked our best friend to the curb," Sam said in a low tone. "Right when he really needed us. And I'm not coming up with anything."

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked. "Yeah, well, when it comes to your safety, I don't see straight. That ain't exactly new."

"I'm not a child. And stop using me as an excuse for your actions. Because that puts them on me, too, you know."

Dean started shaking his head fervently. "No, it's on me, Sam. I know that, and I fully admit it. And- I don't know how, but I will fix this."

Sam didn't say he wasn't sure it could be fixed, at least not between the two of them. Not easily, anyway. Cas…well, Cas never did seem able to hold onto a grudge. At the moment, though, all Sam cared about was Cas holding on to living.

When the transfusion was done, Sam removed the empty blood bag and replaced it with a saline one to keep Cas hydrated. God, he looked awful still, with bruise-dark circles under his eyes and pallor still far too pale.

Sam stayed in the chair by his bed. Dean puttered around the room, sometimes sitting in another chair on the opposite of the bed, sometimes getting up to pace, other times taking the bowl of soup into the kitchen to reheat it, just so it would be warm for when it might be needed.

Finally, after an entire night of worry and waiting, Cas began to stir. First a muscle in his cheek twitched, and then his eyes began moving under his closed lids. Sam leaned forward and gripped his forearm.

"Cas? Can you hear me?"

Dean straightened, but stayed hovering nervously on the other side of the bed.

Cas's eyelids slowly slid upward, and he blinked groggily at the ceiling for a moment.

"Hey," Sam said softly, giving his arm a light squeeze to draw his gaze. "How are you feeling?"

Cas sluggishly lowered his gaze to his prone body, then back up to Sam. "Apparently not very well," he croaked.

Sam grimaced in sympathy. "You're safe, though," he said. "You're not in a djinn dream. You know that, right?"

Cas stared at him dully for a long moment. "Djinn dream?" he repeated.

"Yeah, you were caught by a djinn, remember?"

A small pinch appeared between Cas's brows. "And now you're going to tell me I was rescued," he said blandly, and lolled his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. "You'll have to try harder than that to get me to submit."

Sam's pulse gave a flutter of trepidation, and he exchanged an alarmed look with Dean. "Um, Cas?"

Cas glanced down at himself again. "If you think infirmity will keep me a prisoner, I promise you I will find a way to end this dream."

"Cas, buddy, back up," Dean interjected. "You're not dreaming. You're actually here, in the bunker, with me and Sam. And you're beat up because a djinn had been feeding on you. And because, uh…" He shot Sam an uncertain look.

"Cas," Sam picked up carefully. "Do you remember what happened the last time you woke up here?"

"Which time?"

Sam frowned. "What do you mean which time?"

"All the alternate worlds included you having found the Men of Letters bunker," Cas replied tiredly.

Sam went rigid. _All_ the alternate worlds? "Cas," he breathed. "How many times did the djinn poison you?"

Cas rolled his eyes in lieu of a shrug. "I don't know. This one is number six? I lost count."

Sam's heart skipped a beat. _Six_ times? That he knew of?

"Cas, _this_ is real," he insisted.

"Of course," Cas said hollowly.

Sam leaned forward earnestly. "Don't you remember me coming to get you from the djinn's lair? At the tattoo shop in the mall?"

Cas just gazed at him blankly. "No."

Sam felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. Shit, this was…really bad. What were they gonna do if they couldn't convince Cas this was reality? As long as he believed he was trapped in a djinn dream, he'd be determined to commit suicide in an effort to wake up.

"Cas, you gotta believe us," Dean pressed. "Djinn grant wish fantasies, right? Remember that I kicked you out of the bunker? And now you're hurt bad. Pretty sure that's not on your wish list, pal."

Cas shifted his gaze to Dean. "The fact that I'm here at all speaks for itself."

Dean blanched as though he'd been physically punched in the kidneys, and even Sam felt sick to his stomach at that. This was almost like when he'd been hallucinating Lucifer all the time, unable to tell what was real and what wasn't.

Sam caught his brother's gaze and jerked his head toward the door. Dean looked reluctant, but stood up and followed him out. There weren't any weapons in the room, so they could leave Cas unattended for a short minute, but Sam still left the door cracked so he could see inside from the hallway.

Dean ran a hand over his hair. "God, what did I do?"

Sam bit back the urge to ask the same question. That wasn't going to help.

"Cas was dosed with djinn poison at least six times," he said instead. "Every case we've run into, the victims have only ever been poisoned once. Maybe that's part of what's going on, why he doesn't believe he's awake now."

Dean straightened. "Think the antidote will fix it?"

Sam's jaw tightened. "I don't know. But it's something to try."

"Yeah, okay. I'll go make some."

Sam nodded, and spared a moment to watch his brother's retreating back down the corridor, and then he turned to go back into Cas's room. Or what should have been Cas's room the first time they brought him home. Sam shoved those angry thoughts down for now and went to the bowl of soup on the desk, which was still warm.

"Can you eat something?" Sam asked.

Cas refused to look at him. "I told you, I won't submit. Even if starvation is my only option."

Sam's stomach clenched, and he had to swallow a spiky lump gathering in his throat. "Okay," he said quietly, setting the bowl of soup aside and taking his seat by the bed.

He wished there was something he could say, but words weren't gonna convince Cas of anything right now. And so Sam sat in silence, not knowing what else to do.

Dean came back a bit later with the antidote. Cas was passive as they gave it to him. Sam noted Dean had made it a larger dose, which, given the amount of poison Cas had been subjected to, probably wasn't a bad idea. And because of that very fact, Sam knew better than to expect immediate results.

So now they just had to sit back and wait for the antidote to kick in…and pray it worked.

.o.0.o.

Castiel was having trouble focusing. His vision kept warping, and he was becoming hot and cold by turns. He started to twist under the oppressive sheets, low keens escaping from his throat.

A cool hand pressed against his forehead.

"He's got a fever."

"Maybe it's the antidote working."

"That's not how it normally works."

"This isn't a normal situation."

The hand moved away, but a few moments later it was replaced with a cool, damp cloth.

"Hang in there, Cas."

He was trying to. But he was so, so tired…

Blurred colors coalesced into shapes and contours, and Castiel found himself staring at two very worried faces. He squinted at them. "Dean?" he rasped in disbelief. "Sam?"

"Yeah, hey," Dean replied. "You with us?"

Castiel's brow pinched. "Aren't we in the same room?"

Dean gave a nervous sort of laugh. "Uh, yeah…"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Sam asked, sounding tense.

Castiel grimaced as he tried to think. There were…several strange memories jumbled in his head, but they were all conflicting, and he was fairly certain many of them had never actually happened…

His blood ran cold. "There was…a djinn?" he asked fearfully. _Please, no_ …

"Yeah, and do you remember me finding you and getting you out of there?" Sam asked urgently.

Castiel swallowed against a hard lump in his throat. "I'm…not sure." He had vague flashes of Sam carrying him through a dark room, but he couldn't quite place them with any certainty.

"But you know this is real, right?" Dean pressed. "That you're not stuck in a djinn dream?"

Castiel felt a thrill of fear that that's exactly where he was, but he took a moment to consider it. The djinn fantasies always felt so real, yet there did seem to be a sort of extra weightiness to this reality—pain in his shoulders and wrists, bone-deep exhaustion, yet also an odd mental clarity he didn't think he had previously…

"I…think so?"

The Winchesters exchanged a nervous look at the uncertain inflection in his tone.

"I don't understand," Castiel continued. "How did you find me? _Why_ did you find me? I thought…"

Sam leaned forward earnestly and laid a warm hand on his forearm above the bandages. "Cas, I had nothing to do with Dean sending you away. He told me it was your idea, but I didn't understand why you would just leave, so I went after you. Asked around at the bus station to find out which bus you took, followed your trail and found the mall, thought you might have gone inside. Turns out you did, and I found the djinn and killed it, then found you tied up in the back of the tattoo shop."

Castiel's head was spinning from Sam's ramble, but he thought he got the gist of all that. He flicked an uncertain look at Dean. "Then…I shouldn't be here…"

"Yes, you should," Sam answered fervently, shooting his brother a dark look. "There's nowhere else you should be."

"But…"

"Cas, I am so sorry I made you leave," Dean jumped in. "I was just…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Nothing I can say will ever make up for what I did, kicking you out like that."

Castiel looked away. "I understand why you did."

"No, you _don't_ ," Dean countered, tone oddly desperate and wrecked. "Cas, I- I panicked. Sam had just nearly died, and he almost got hurt again with the reaper chick, but that's no excuse for telling you to leave. You didn't deserve that."

"I made a mess of things, Dean. Again."

"What I did was worse," the hunter replied with full conviction. Dean's eyes wavered with genuine remorse. "Worse than all of it."

"And you don't have to earn the right to come back here," Sam put in. "You're our best friend; you _never_ have to earn that." He let out a sigh and glanced at Dean again with a heavy look. "Family forgives each other."

Moisture glistened in Dean's eyes, and he ducked his head for a moment. When he raised it again, his eyes were clear as he fixed Castiel with a look of staunch resolve.

"Let me start over. This is your home, with us. This is your room. And…" Dean's voice cracked. "And, shit, you nearly died because of me and will probably be stuck in bed for several days recovering, but I'm gonna get you back on your feet, I promise. And then I'll be a better friend, one you _do_ deserve."

Castiel stared at them both, astounded. "Um, alright." He hesitated before asking, "You're certain this isn't a djinn dream?"

The looks of utter horror on their faces instantly made Castiel feel guilty…and oddly reassured him. He figured hallucinations would have casually assured him he wasn't dreaming instead.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I think I'm just…adjusting, still."

Sam nodded somewhat stiffly. "Just, if you ever have any doubts, come talk to us, okay? Don't…don't do anything…" He trailed off, throat bobbing.

Castiel dropped his gaze to his bandaged wrists, a fuzzy memory from the library resurfacing. "I'm sorry," he said again, this time in mortification.

"It's okay," Sam quickly said, then winced. "I mean, we get it. You weren't thinking clearly. But, you're better now?"

"Yes," Castiel said slowly. "I am."

At least, he thought he would be. The ruinations of all those false realities were already beginning to crumble, along with the crushing blows that had actually occurred. And with the Winchesters' ardent declarations, Castiel thought that there was perhaps hope to pick up those shattered pieces and begin to rebuild.


End file.
